


Schemes

by 7slash20



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 03:31:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7297765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/7slash20/pseuds/7slash20
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Methos had underestimated the man, but sometimes the best things in life come unexpected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schemes

**Author's Note:**

> I found some old stories on my hard drive; maybe some of you have as much fun reading them as I had re-discovering them.  
> Be warned: I'm not a native speaker and the stories are not beta-ed. Read at own risk!  
> (Dimeth is the name I used for my Highlander stuff, just in case you wondered...)

Schemes  
  
By Dimeth  
  
  
Well we all have a face  
That we hide away forever  
And we take them out and  
Show ourselves  
When everyone has gone  
Some are satin some are steel  
Some are silk and some are leather  
They're the faces of the stranger  
But we love to try them on  
  
Well we all fall in love  
But we disregard the danger  
Though we share so many secrets  
There are some we never tell  
You should know by now  
You've been there yourself  
You may never understand  
How the stranger is inspired  
But he isn't always evil  
And he isn't always wrong  
Though you drown in good intentions  
You will never quench the fire  
You'll give in to your desire  
When the stranger comes along.  
  
Billy Joel The Stranger  
  
  
I had come to realize I needed someone. The Watchers were a perfect hiding place as long as I wasn’t found out. In case they would… I’d need someone to cover my retreat. The obvious choice would have been Don Salzer.  
I looked over at him, bowed over some dusty hardback at his desk in the bookstore, happily chatting away about the quality of the paper, the ink, and shook my head silently. Don, good old, book-nut, not from this world Don wasn’t the man for the job.  
  
Then, I checked the other Watchers who came regularly to Shakespeare & Co. No one was what I was looking for. But then, a name kept coming up at Watcher poker nights, anecdotes I had heard before, but without a name attached to it. Joseph Dawson, Watcher, famous for being infamous, had returned to Paris along with his subject. And then Don told me, between turning the pages of a beautiful medieval volume I had ‘found’ in the cellar, that Joe Dawson was one of his buddies. My heart rate sped up.  
“I heard he has returned to Paris from Seacouver,” I said eagerly.  
Don looked at me sharply. “You young men gossip too much at your poker nights. We used to play poker.” He admonished.  
I looked sufficiently affected and Don said in a forgiving tone: “But you’re right, Joe Dawson is back in Paris. And sooner or later, he will show up here, so you’ll meet him and then you can brag about it at your next poker night.”  
  
The moment Joe Dawson walked into the bookstore I knew my search was over. I had found my guardian angel. I knew all the gossip, all the rumours about him. A double amputee who had lost his legs in Vietnam, recruited in the field hospital. Had risen in the Watcher hierarchy pretty fast. Now the Watcher of one of the most powerful Immortals in the Game, a Watcher who wasn’t only able, but also willing to bend the rules if need be. I was prepared to tell him when there would be need.  
  
I was on a graduated scheme.  
Stage one was the shy flirting grad student getting bolder. Aiming to please. When Dawson was in the bookstore, which actually seemed to be quite often, I made him catch me staring at him, then looked away quickly. Sometimes I even managed to blush. I’d touch his fingers ‘accidently’ when I handed him a book. I made sure I learned everything about him – what he liked best on his sandwich, how he took his coffee, which kind of beer, what snacks – everything. And then I made sure the man got what he wanted even before he knew he’d want it.  
Stage two was dropping baits, not open flirting, but shy suggestions about a coffee later, delivered with a blush and downcast eyes. He took me out and to my utter amazement, he knew some places in Paris I had never even heard of. He was really good fun, we laughed a lot –about his jokes mostly- and spent some very nice evenings in various bars.  
Stage three was taking him out. I knew this club not too far from the bookstore – shabby place, watered-down drinks, live music of the worst kind and most important of all – a gay meeting point.  
  
I pretended innocence and let him open my eyes to what this club really was about. I was used to men looking at me _that_ way, but I was surprised to find the hungry gazes of men of all sorts were not on me – but on him. He was slowly undressed, caressed, and devoured by at least four pairs of eyes. And he wasn’t uncomfortable. He wasn’t even oblivious to the attention, oh no, he was fully aware of it. Was he relishing it?  
I felt… odd.  
That was good in a way, because it was supporting my Adam part, made me shift on my barstool, made my eyes dart around in the gloom, only to catch more glances on him. It made me possessive. Which wasn’t good, because I suddenly felt like I could lose my cool any second.  
“Can we – I mean…”  
I wiped my palms on my jeans-clad thighs and was surprised to find them actually moist.  
“Leave?” He said, and though I didn’t dare look at him, I heard a smile in his voice.  
I nodded.  
“Sure, kid. Let’s go then.”  
He got up and - like Moses parting the red sea- he was walking through the solid mass of bodies. I saw them check him out as he slowly made his way to the door and felt my _don’t mess with DEATH_ face come up. It seemed to work, because nobody even tried so much as chatting him up.  
  
Outside, walking away from the club, with the Parisian air cooling my temper, I stammered: “I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was… it was…”  
He just stood there, watching me.  
“It was, wasn’t it?”  
“Most definitely.” He smiled. “And I thought you’d taken me there on purpose.”  
“Me? No. I mean, why should I?”  
He looked at me silently. The full moon made the few silver strands in his hair light up and I saw what the men in the club had seen. He was – sexy.  
I felt fresh heat creep over my face and mumbled: “Yeah, right, as if you didn’t notice…”  
I let the sentence hang unfinished between us and kept my eyes down. I heard his uneven gait and the counterpart of his cane tip on the cobblestones. I hurried to catch up on him.  
“Joe? Please, I’m sorry. I should’ve known…”  
“Should’ve know what?”  
“Of course you aren’t interested… I mean, even if you were interested in principle, what would you find in me…”  
He stopped and looked at me.  
“Yes, I did flirt with you. Yes, I knew about the bar. About what people go there… I thought… I thought it would be easier showing instead of telling you…”  
“Stop, Adam. Stop it.”  
“But, Joe…” The confusion I heard in my own voice was genuine.  
“… even if I was interested? What are you talking about, Adam?”  
“It never happened to me, Joe, but when I saw you…” Maybe that was a touch too much, because he started laughing.  
“Oh goodness, what is this? A love vow?”  
I had the grace not to burst into tears, but I managed a slight tremble of my lower lip and narrowed my eyes as if I was holding back some fundamental declaration.  
“Adam, I’m at least –what?- 15 years older than you. I don’t have legs. And my assignment will leave Paris rather soon.”  
_He hadn’t said ‘no’._  
He stood rooted to the spot, when my hand came up to his cheek and I leaned in for a kiss.  
Before my lips made contact he grabbed my wrist so hard I yelped.  
“Are you crazy?” He snarled. “Not in public.”  
I stumbled backwards, rubbing my wrist. Like a flash an image went through my mind – his strong hands, spreading my thighs. A small gasp escaped me.  
“Can we go somewhere?” Shy Adam voice, mouth dry in anticipation.  
“Adam-”  
I cut him off in a most pleasant way. Manoeuvring him into a dark hallway, I kissed him. The silky scratch of his beard against my upper lip and chin was sweet. I hadn’t done anything like this in a long time, but way back when, I wouldn’t have hesitated to open his lips with my tongue. But _what a shame_ Adam Pierson was too shy a guy for sexually aggressive behaviour. _Too bad._  
So I just pressed a little harder, waiting for Joe to take the lead.  
His lips stayed sealed. I moaned lowly in my throat and flung my body against his, rubbing my half-hard cock against his hip. Nothing happened.  
I grabbed his hips in a moment of boldness and shifted my weight to feel whether it made sense to work him like that.  
_Goodness_ , I thought, when I encountered his erection. _Definitely interested, aren’t we?_  
“Joe, Joe,” I moaned against his lips.  
And then – he pushed me away. Just like that.  
“It was an interesting evening, Adam. Good night.”  
Good night?  
He really meant it, since he left me there, my erection about to wreck the zipper of my jeans, and walked away.  
I listened to his uneven gait until it was drowned out by the night.  
  
I waited until the following Sunday morning. Joe would probably work in his hotel room, so I sent him a text message.  


> Are U mad? 

Seconds later, the mobile in my hand vibrated and I read

> Should I be? 

I chewed on my lower lip.  
He was not mad, but cautious. I wrote

> Can I explain over coffee? 

He answered

> When? Where? 

My heart beat faster.  
I typed ‘dinner @ 8?’ and my current address. It took full five minutes for him to answer.

> I’ll be there. 

  
I usually didn’t want people in my flat, but I was willing to make an exception for Dawson. Considering the pros and cons, this little show of trust would probably have a favourable effect on our relationship. But more than the advantageous effects, I wanted Joe to see my place. I wanted to see Joe in my place.  
 _Don’t lose sight of why he’s coming here_ , I admonished myself. _Even if he is fun, it’s only secondary._

I made my bed and prepared the coffee the way Joe liked it best (hand-filtered coffee, Italian roast with hot milk and a quarter-spoon of white sugar) and the moment I poured the coffee, the doorbell chimed.  
Joe limped into my flat as if he owned it. He picked up his cup of coffee in the kitchen, saluting me silently with it and wandered into my joint living/bedroom. He waited at the window, looking out until I caught up with him, then his cane tip pointed towards my bed.  
“That’s why I’m here?”  
I swallowed a sip of coffee the wrong way; I coughed and felt dark heat rise to my face. I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth and looked at him.  
“What?” I managed.  
“Is this the follow up to last Wednesday’s seduction scene?”  
Damn, who had thought the man was easy to fool?  
“Yes,” I mumbled, eyes downcast.  
I heard him put down the coffee cup, saw his shoes appear in my field of vision and then two of his calloused fingers lifted my chin until I was looking at him.  
“Stylish student’s flat you got here, Adam, very private,” Joe murmered, “no prying eyes,” and then he kissed me. The moment his tongue opened my lips, I knew I had really misjudged something here.

Afterwards, I lay on my back, sweat and other mixed body fluids cooling on my skin, marvelling about how poor my assessment of Joe Dawson had been. Sex with him had been on my agenda alright, but more like an extra to have something up my sleeve in case I needed to convince Dawson later on to do me a favour. I had expected him to be shy and awkward in bed, swallowed up by Catholic guilt and remorse once we were done. Instead, he had been pretty much upfront about what he wanted and how he wanted it.  
He had watched me unashamed while I took off my clothes, all lights switched on and he let me watch when he got undressed. His upper arms and chest well-muscled and his belly flatter than I had expected. He had shed his trousers and had taken his legs off, his boxers and at last, strangely erotic to the view, he had rolled down the cotton caps from his stumps, before he had lain back on the bed completely naked, looking at me with a slight tilt of his head, daring me to flinch.  
“Come here,” he had said with his gravely voice and for a split second the thought rushed through my head that I had missed something vital about him.  
  
And the sex turned out to be an extra for me; rode hard and put away wet came to mind.  
I shifted, feeling the after effects of being loved by Joe Dawson. Suddenly, I realized that he was awfully quiet and I hoped that I was equally wrong about the guilt and remorse part as I had been about shy and awkward. Maybe he just needed a bit of reassurance.  
“God, Joe, that was… amazing.”  
“And if you spill as much as a single word about this, I’ll kill you.”  
If this was a joke, it was not a very good one. I opened my eyes and found his eyes hard and cold as china. “Joe, I wouldn’t-”  
“And then I’ll take your head.”  
His voice sounded calm, but his eyes told me, he wasn’t joking.  
I had underestimated the man. Seriously.  
“How did you know?” I forced out.  
“I didn’t. Let’s say, things were adding up. Your skin-” his hand stroked down my arm, “was never anything but perfect. No pimples, no cuts from shaving, not a single scratch from Christine’s damn cat-”  
A slow smile spread on his face and his fingertips ran in a rough caress over my neck, “no hickeys though I tried very hard.” Oh, yes, I remembered his hot mouth on my throat. “Go figure.”  
“And still you came?”  
“Course. Had to see for myself how far you’d go.”  
I sat up, looking down at Joe’s smiling face.  
“That was the plan, wasn’t it. Involve me like this,” he gestured at our bodies, naked, sweaty, on the bed, “and then? What? Blackmail me?”  
“So –this was nothing but a game?”  
“Oh, it ain’t a game to take somebody to bed, at least not for me. But yeah, you were truly entertaining.” He stretched leisurely. “I could do with another coffee, Adam…”  
Still naked, I padded into the kitchen to get him more coffee. Damn, what a fool I had made of myself. I had misread about every sign he had given me, misjudged him for whatever reason as harmless and friendly. A good Irish Catholic boy, fiercely loyal to his friends. The man I needed in my life.  
  
_Be careful what you wish for_ , a little voice in the back of my head demanded belatedly. Now that I had gotten what I had wished for, my life would never be the same. I walked the coffee back to the bed and took a long look at Joe Dawson between my sheets. I smiled at him, slipped next to his warm, strong body in my bed and said: “I’ll be your coffee slave, if you like.”  
  
Maybe this wasn’t the way I had planned this, but then sometimes the best things in life come unexpected.  



End file.
